Bob. Lucy, I’ll do my best; but you know what it will be: I shall be last. Just my luck!
Harry. Oh, pshaw! Bob. Remember the fable of the hare and the turtle.
Bob. Confound it! do you mean to call me a turtle?
Fred. Well, well, whose champion am I? (Aside.) That Bob Winders has got ahead of me already. (Enter Mrs. Loring and Dilly, R.) Ah! here’s Mrs. Loring. Madam, we are to have a race on the lake. Miss Lucy has accepted Bob here as her champion: he is already decorated with her ribbon. May I not hope that you may be induced to look with favor on your humble servant?
Mrs. L. Well, I’m sure, Master Fred, if my favor can help you to victory, here is my ribbon. (He kneels, she pins red ribbon on his coat.)
Lucy. All hail the champion of the Red!
Dilly. Going to have a race? Oh! ain’t that jolly? Whose champion are you, Harry?
Harry. They’ve left me out in the cold. No, Dilly! Whose champion? Yours, little lady, if you will accept me.
Dilly. Oh, my! Will you, though? Oh, that is real jolly; but you want a ribbon: wait a minute till I let down my hair. There, now! wear that (pins blue ribbon on him); and, if you don’t bring it as a trophy of victory, I’ll never speak to you again.